Kristin Lavransdatter Part 12

At night, when the candles were put out in the loft and everyone had gone to bed, Simon would get up and come over to where the maidens lay. He would sit for a while on the edge of the bed, speaking mostly to his sisters, but in the dark he would sneak his hand up to Kristin's breast and let it stay there. She would lie there, sweating with indignation.

Now that her sense for such matters was so much keener, she realized there were many things that Simon was both too proud and too shy to say to her, once he noticed that she didn't want to go into such topics. And she felt a strange, bitter anger toward him because it seemed to her that he was trying to make himself seem a better man than the one who had taken her-even though he had no idea of the other man's existence.

But one evening when they had been out dancing at another estate, Astrid and Sigrid stayed behind and were going to sleep with a foster sister. Late that night, when the people from Dyfrin had gone to bed in the loft, Simon came over to Kristin's bed and climbed in; he lay on top of the furs.

Kristin pulled the covers up to her chin and crossed her arms tightly over her chest. After a moment Simon reached out his hand to touch her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. She felt the silk embroidery at his wrists, so she realized that he had not undressed.

"You're just as shy in the dark as in the daylight, Kristin," said Simon with a chuckle. "Surely you'll let me hold your hand, won't you?" he asked, and Kristin gave him her fingertips.

"Don't you think we might have a few things to talk about, now that we have the chance to be alone for a little while?" he said. And Kristin thought that now she would be able to speak. So she agreed. But then she could not utter a word.

"Can I come under the furs?" he asked again. "It's cold in the room." And he slipped in between the furs and the woolen blanket she had over her. He crooked one arm behind her head, but in such a way that he did not touch her. And they lay there like that for a while.

"You're not an easy person to woo, either," said Simon after a pause, and then laughed in resignation. "I promise you I won't so much as kiss you, if you don't want me to. But surely you can talk to me, can't you?"

Kristin moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue, but she still remained silent.

"It seems to me that you're lying here trembling," Simon continued. "Is it because you have something against me, Kristin?"

She didn't think that she could lie to Simon, so she said, "No," but nothing more.

Simon lay there a little longer, trying to get a conversation started. But finally he laughed again and said, "I see that you think I should be satisfied with this-that you have nothing against me-for tonight, at least, and that I should even be happy. It's strange how proud you are too. But you must give me a kiss, all the same; then I'll go and not plague you any longer."

He took his kiss, sat up, and set his feet on the floor. Kristin thought that now she would manage to tell him what had to be said-but he had already left her bed, and she could hear him getting undressed.

The next day Fru Angerd was not as friendly toward Kristin as she usually was. The young maiden realized that she must have heard something and felt that the betrothed girl had not received her son in the manner that his mother felt she should have.

Later in the afternoon Simon mentioned that he was thinking of trading for a horse that was owned by one of his friends. He asked Kristin whether she would like to go along and watch. She said yes, and they went into town together.

The weather was clear and beautiful. It had snowed a little during the night, but now the sun was shining, and it was still so cold that the snow squeaked under their feet. Kristin enjoyed getting out in the cold and walking, so when Simon had found the horse that he was thinking of, she talked to him about it in the most lively manner; she had some knowledge of horses, since she had always spent so much time with her father. And this one was a fine animal: a mouse-gray stallion with narrow black stripes along his back and a short, clipped mane. He was well built and spirited, but quite small and slight.

"He won't last long under a fully-armed man," said Kristin.

"No, but that's not what I had in mind, either," said Simon.

He led the horse out to the open area behind the farm, let him run and walk, rode the animal himself, and then had Kristin ride him too. They stayed outdoors in the white pasture for a long time.

Finally, as Kristin was feeding bread to the horse from her hand, Simon leaned against the animal with his arm over his back and said suddenly, "It seems to me, Kristin, that you and my mother have been rather cross with each other."

"I haven't meant to be cross with your mother," she said, "but I can't find much to say to Fru Angerd."

"You don't seem to find much to say to me, either," said Simon. "I won't force myself on you, Kristin, before the time comes. But things can't go on like this; I never get a chance to talk to you."

"I have never been talkative," said Kristin. "I know that myself, and I don't expect you to think it a great loss if things don't work out between us."

"You know what I think about that subject," replied Simon, looking at her.

Kristin blushed as red as blood. And she was startled to find that she was not averse to Simon Darre's wooing.

After a moment he said, "Is it Arne Gyrdsn, Kristin, that you think you can't forget?" Kristin stared at him. Simon continued, and his voice was kind and understanding, "I won't blame you for that. You grew up as siblings, and barely a year has pa.s.sed. But you can depend on this: I want only what's best for you."

Kristin's face had grown quite pale. Neither of them spoke as they walked through town in the twilight. At the end of the street, in the greenish blue sky, the crescent of the new moon hung with a bright star in its embrace.

One year, thought Kristin, and she could hardly remember when she had last given Arne a thought. It gave her a fright-maybe she was a loose, vile woman. A year since she had seen him lying on the bier in the death chamber, when she thought she would never be happy again. She whimpered silently in fear at the inconstancy of her own heart and at the transitory nature of all things. Erlend, Erlend-would he forget her? But worse yet was that she might ever forget him.

Sir Andres and his children went to the great Christmas celebration at the king's castle. Kristin saw all the finery and splendor, and they were also invited into the hall where King Haakon sat with Fru Isabel Bruce, the widow of King Eirik. Sir Andres went forward to greet the king, while his children and Kristin remained behind. She thought of everything that Fru Aashild had told her, and she remembered that the king was Erlend's close kinsman-their fathers' mothers had been sisters. And she was Erlend's wife by seduction; she had no right to stand here, especially not among these good, fine people, the children of Sir Andres.

Suddenly she saw Erlend Nikulaussn. He had stepped forward in front of Queen Isabel and was standing there with his head bowed and his hand on his breast while she spoke a few words to him. He was wearing the brown silk surcoat that he had worn to their banquet rendezvous. Kristin stepped behind Sir Andres's daughters.

When Fru Angerd, some time later, escorted the three maidens over to the queen, Kristin could not see Erlend anywhere, but she didn't dare raise her eyes from the floor. She wondered if he was standing somewhere in the hall; she thought she could feel his eyes on her. But she also thought that everyone was staring at her, as if they could tell that she was standing there like a liar with the gold wreath on her hair, which fell loosely over her shoulders.

He was not in the hall where the young people were served dinner and where they danced after the tables had been cleared away. Kristin had to dance with Simon that evening.

Along one wall stood a built-in table, and that's where the king's servants set ale and mead and wine all night long. Once when Simon took Kristin over there and drank a toast to her, she saw that Erlend was standing quite close to her, behind Simon. He looked at her, and Kristin's hand shook as Simon gave her the goblet and she raised it to her lips. Erlend whispered fiercely to the man who was with him-a tall, heavyset, but handsome older man, who shook his head dismissively with an angry expression. In the next moment Simon led Kristin back to the dance.

She had no idea how long that dance lasted; the ballad seemed endless and every moment was tedious and painful with longing and unrest. At last it was over, and Simon escorted her over to the table for drinks again.

One of his friends approached and spoke to him, leading him away a few paces, over to a group of young men. Then Erlend stood before her.

"I have so much I want to say to you," he whispered. "I don't know what to say first. In Christ's name, Kristin, how are things with you?" he asked hastily, for he noticed that her face had turned as white as chalk.

She couldn't see him clearly; it was as if there was running water between their faces. He picked up a goblet from the table, drank from it, and handed it to Kristin. She thought it was much too heavy, or that her arm had been pulled from its socket; she couldn't manage to raise it to her lips.

"Is that how things stand-that you'll drink with your betrothed but not with me?" asked Erlend softly. But Kristin dropped the goblet and swooned forward into his arms.

When she woke up she was lying on a bench with her head in the lap of a maiden she didn't know. They had loosened her belt and the brooch on her breast. Someone was slapping her hands, and her face was wet.

She sat up. Somewhere in the circle of people around her she saw Erlend's face, pale and ill. She felt weak herself, as if all her bones had melted, and her head felt huge and hollow. But somewhere in her mind a single thought, clear and desperate, shone-she had to talk to Erlend.

Then she said to Simon Darre, who was standing close by, "It must have been too hot for me. There are so many candles burning in here, and I'm not accustomed to drinking so much wine."

"Are you all right now?" asked Simon. "You frightened everyone. Perhaps you would like me to take you home?"

"I think we should wait until your parents leave," said Kristin calmly. "But sit down here. I don't feel like dancing anymore." She patted the cushion beside her. Then she stretched out her other hand to Erlend.

"Sit down here, Erlend Nikulaussn. I didn't have a chance to give you my full greeting. Ingebjrg was just saying lately that she thought you had forgotten all about her."

She saw that he was having a much more difficult time composing himself than she was. It cost her great effort to hold back the tender little smile that threatened to appear on her lips.

"You must thank the maiden for still remembering me," he said, stammering. "And here I was so afraid that she had forgotten me me."

Kristin hesitated for a moment. She didn't know what message she could bring from the flighty Ingebjrg that would be interpreted correctly by Erlend. Then bitterness rose up inside her for all those months of helplessness, and she said, "Dear Erlend, did you think that we maidens would forget the man who so magnificently defended our honor?"

She saw that he looked as if she had struck him. And she regretted it at once when Simon asked what she meant. Kristin told him of her adventure with Ingebjrg out in the Eikaberg woods. She noticed that Simon was not pleased. Then she asked him to go in search of Fru Angerd, to see if they would be leaving soon. She was tired after all. When he had gone, she turned to look at Erlend.

"It's odd," he said in a low voice, "how resourceful you are-I wouldn't have thought it of you."

"I've had to learn to conceal things, as you might well imagine," she said somberly.

Erlend breathed heavily. He was still quite pale.

"Is that it?" he whispered. "But you promised to go to my friends if that should come about. G.o.d knows, I've thought about you every single day, about whether the worst had happened."

"I know what you mean by the worst," replied Kristin tersely. "You needn't worry about that. It seems worse to me that you would not send me a word of greeting. Can't you understand that I'm living there with the nuns like some strange bird?" She stopped because she could feel the tears rising.

"Is that why you're with the Dyfrin people now?" he asked. Then she grew so full of despair that she couldn't answer.

She saw Fru Angerd and Simon appear in the doorway. Erlend's hand lay on his knee, close to her own, but she could not touch it.

"I have to talk to you," he said fiercely. "We haven't said a word to each other of what we should have talked about."

"Come to the ma.s.s at the Maria Church after the last day of the Christmas season," Kristin said hastily, as she stood up and stepped forward to meet the others.

Fru Angerd was quite loving and kind toward Kristin on the way home, and she helped the maiden into bed herself. Kristin didn't have a chance to speak to Simon until the following day.

Then he said, "How is it that you would agree to convey messages between this Erlend and Ingebjrg Filippusdatter? You should not lend a hand in this matter, if they have some secret business between them."

"I don't think there's anything behind it," said Kristin. "She's just a chatterbox."

"I thought you would have been more sensible," said Simon, "than to venture into the woods and out onto roads alone with that magpie." But Kristin reminded him with some fervor that it was not their fault they had gone astray. Simon didn't say another word.

The next day the Dyfrin people escorted her back to the convent before setting off for home themselves.

Erlend came to vespers at the convent church every day for a week, but Kristin didn't have the chance to exchange a single word with him. She felt as if she were a hawk that sat chained to a roost with a hood pulled over its eyes. She was also unhappy about every word they had said to each other at their last meeting; that was not the way it was supposed to have been. It didn't help that she told herself it had happened so suddenly for both of them that they hardly knew what they were saying.

But one afternoon, at dusk, a beautiful woman who looked like the wife of a townsman appeared in the parlatory. She asked for Kristin Lavransdatter and said that she was the wife of a clothing merchant. Her husband had just arrived from Denmark with some fine cloaks, and Aasmund Bjrgulfsn wished to give one of them to his niece, so the maiden was to go with her to select it herself.

Kristin was allowed to accompany the woman. She thought it unlike her uncle to want to give her a costly gift, and peculiar that he would send a stranger to get her.

At first the woman said little, replying only briefly to Kristin's questions, but when they had walked all the way into town, she suddenly said, "I don't want to fool you, lovely child that you are. I'm going to tell you how things truly stand so you can decide for yourself. It wasn't your uncle who sent me, but a man-maybe you can guess his name, and if you can't, then you shouldn't come with me. I have no husband, and I have to make a living for myself and mine by keeping an inn and serving ale. So I can't be too afraid of either sin or servants-but I will not let my house be used for purposes of deceiving you within my walls."

Kristin stopped, her face flushed. She felt strangely hurt and ashamed on Erlend's behalf.

The woman said, "I will accompany you back to the convent, Kristin, but you must give me something for my trouble. The knight promised me a large reward, but I was also beautiful once, and I too was deceived. And then you can remember me in your prayers tonight. They call me Brynhild Fluga."

Kristin took a ring from her finger and gave it to the woman.

"That was kind of you, Brynhild, but if the man is my kinsman Erlend Nikulaussn, then I have nothing to fear. He wants me to reconcile him with my uncle. You will not be blamed-but thank you for warning me."

Brynhild Fluga turned away to hide her smile.

She led Kristin through the alleys behind Clement's Church and north toward the river. A few small, isolated farms were situated on the bank. They walked between several fences, and there came Erlend to meet them. He glanced around and then took off his cape and wrapped it around Kristin, pulling the hood forward over her face.

"What do you think of this ruse?" he asked quickly, in a low voice. "Do you think I've done wrong? But I had to talk to you."

"It won't do much good for us to think about what's right and what's wrong," said Kristin.

"Don't talk like that," implored Erlend. "I take the blame. Kristin, I've longed for you every day and every night," he whispered close to her ear.

A shudder pa.s.sed through her as she briefly met his glance. She felt guilty because she had been thinking about something besides her love for him when he looked at her in that way.

Brynhild Fluga had gone on ahead. When they reached the inn, Erlend asked Kristin, "Do you want to go into the main room, or should we talk upstairs in the loft?"

"As you please," replied Kristin.

"It's cold up there," said Erlend softly. "We'll have to get into the bed." Kristin merely nodded.

The instant he had closed the door behind them, she was in his arms. He bent her this way and that like a wand, blinding her and smothering her with kisses, as he impatiently tore both cloaks off her and tossed them to the floor. Then he lifted the girl in the pale convent dress in his arms, pressing her to his shoulder, and carried her over to the bed. Frightened by his roughness and by her own sudden desire for this man, she put her arms around him and buried her face in his neck.

It was so cold in the loft that they could see their own breath like a cloud of smoke in front of the little candle standing on the table. But there were plenty of blankets and furs on the bed, covered by a great bearskin, which they pulled all the way up over their faces.

She didn't know how long she had lain like that in his arms when Erlend said, "Now we must talk about those things that have to be discussed, my Kristin. I don't dare keep you here long."

"I'll stay here the whole night if you want me to," whispered Kristin.

Erlend pressed his cheek to hers.

"Then I would not be much of a friend to you. Things are bad enough already, but I won't have people gossiping about you because of me."

Kristin didn't reply, but she felt a twinge of pain. She didn't understand how he could say such a thing, since he was the one who had brought her here to Brynhild Fluga's house. She didn't know how she knew it, but she realized that this was not a good place. And he had expected that everything would proceed just as it did, for he had a cup of mead standing inside the bed drapes.

"I've been thinking," continued Erlend, "that if there's no other alternative, then I'll have to take you away by force, to Sweden. d.u.c.h.ess Ingebjrg received me kindly this autumn and spoke of the kinship between us. But now I'm paying for my sins-I've fled the country before, you know-and I don't want you to be mentioned as that other one's equal."

"Take me home to Husaby with you," said Kristin quietly. "I can't bear to be separated from you and to live with the maidens in the convent. Surely both your kinsmen and mine will be reasonable enough that they'll allow us to be together and become reconciled with them."

Erlend hugged her tight and moaned, "I can't take you to Husaby, Kristin."

"Why can't you?" she asked in a whisper.

"Eline came back this fall," he said after a moment. "I can't make her leave the farm," he continued angrily, "not unless I carry her by force out to the sleigh and drive her away myself. And I don't think I could do that-she brought both of our children home with her."

Kristin felt as if she were sinking deeper and deeper. In a voice that was brittle with fear she said, "I thought you had parted from her."